Tag Archives: Identity

#77 I Love Berlin, I Hate Berlin

While waiting for people to climb the stairs on their way to board the plane, my girlfriend noticed a woman absorbing the last rays of Greek sunlight.

“She knows where she’s heading,” she shouted at me, trying to be heard above the roar of the wind.

That sentence made me fully realize where we were all heading: Berlin.

So I imitated the woman. I turned my face towards the sun and closed my eyes.

“Fuck, back to Berlin,” I thought.

I love Berlin, I hate Berlin.

I hate Berlin, I love Berlin.

As we flew over the forests of Brandenburg, leaving a series of lakes behind us, I had a strange feeling. It was as if I were about to land in a city I could recognize neither as familiar nor as alien.

“Is this my home?” I asked myself.

The extra hour-long journey from the airport to the flat I rent in Weissensee sucked out the last drops of my energy.

The next day, I ran some errands: washing my clothes, doing some groceries, trying to put my life back into its usual rhythm. Afterwards, I treated myself to lunch at Quadmous, at Am Friedrichshain, even though my wallet—drained by Mykonos—was telling me to stay away.

It was a quiet, uneventful day spent alone.

On Sunday, I wanted to take advantage of the sun and spend the day at the beach.

After a lazy morning, during which I lost more time than I would have liked, I headed towards the Weissensee, only to find out that it was packed.

I was missing my girlfriend. I was missing the calmness of the Greek beaches.

“We’re planning to go to Halensee,” she said over the phone while I was standing in line, almost at the entrance to the Weissensee, which was still the best option for me.

I checked my phone. Forty minutes to Halensee.

Forty minutes through the burning city, with the stink of public transport and unfriendly gazes.

Not exactly what I was looking for.

I didn’t know what to do, so I stayed in line a little longer, without really thinking about anything.

Then I found myself waiting for the S42, which was delayed.

Great, I thought, starting to lose my patience.

Almost thirty minutes went by.

“I could be lying on the beach reading my book with a cappuccino now.”

When I finally reached Halensee, I found out that the lake had been temporarily closed because there were too many people.

So I waited in line with a crowd of pissed-off people, all of us annoyed by this unexpected turn of events.

I bought three bracelets.

My girlfriend arrived twenty minutes later. I went up and gave hers to her.

We went down together and found a small spot among the crowd.

It felt claustrophobic. Totally unpleasant.

We sat there in silence.

We didn’t have the energy—or the willingness—to complain anymore.

She went to pick up her friend, who had just texted her.

Her friend came and sat close to us.

She never stopped talking.

Not even when we found out that a guy had disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

Not even when I came back after joining the attempts to rescue him, exhausted and a little shocked by the collective panic.

Not even when the firefighters pulled his lifeless body from the water.

Not even when we were asked to leave and spent ten minutes outside, staring at the ambulances lined up in front of the lake.

Not even when we stopped to eat an ice cream.

Then I was home in Weissensee again, dreading Monday and wishing I were back in Greece on holiday.

Just one more week.

#76 Letting go of identity: the path to true strength

When identity becomes a cage

The strongest person is the one who doesn’t build his life around an identity.

The moment we become attached to an idea of who we are, we also become vulnerable. We start protecting an image instead of living the truth.

What if we lose that identity?

What if we’re not who we thought we were?

What if our flaws become visible?

Suddenly, our self-worth depends on maintaining a story. That’s where impostor syndrome thrives. That’s where “fake it until you make it” becomes a survival strategy instead of a stepping stone. That’s where FOMO gains power. All of them feed on the same fear: that who we are isn’t enough unless it matches the identity we’ve created.

Our culture amplifies this. We’re constantly encouraged to define ourselves through labels, careers, achievements, ideologies, lifestyles, and online personas. The stronger the attachment, the greater the fear of losing them.

Purpose without attachment

“But don’t we need purpose? Don’t we need to belong?”

Of course we do.

Not identifying with a rigid concept of ourselves doesn’t mean rejecting purpose, ambition, or community. It simply means recognizing that none of those things define our worth.

We can dedicate ourselves to a career without becoming our job. We can fight for a cause without making disagreement feel like a personal attack. We can belong to a community without believing that leaving it would make us less of a person.

Purpose enriches our lives. Identity should never imprison it.

The practice of simply being

We should practice being honest with ourselves.

Become comfortable simply existing.

Learn one new lesson every day, no matter how small.

We must learn again and again to stop comparing our path to everyone else’s. Be grateful for what we know while remaining curious about what we don’t.

Identity should describe our lives—not define our worth.

The strongest people aren’t those with the clearest identity. They’re the ones who can let it go without losing themselves.

#72 Pages from a Moleskine 2: The cost and reward of setting boundaries

Listen to this post

Paris, January 1st, 2024

I’m starting to understand now what my mother told me yesterday, or at least I’m coming up with my own interpretation of the message in her words.

To feel a mix of egoism, hypocrisy, and guilt when you put yourself first—when you set healthy boundaries and stand up for yourself—is normal. On the other hand, you may feel a sense of pride, joy, and self-worth for finally being able to protect yourself independently.

Everything comes at a cost, and for everything there is a reward.

We need to learn to see both aspects in every sphere of life. Appreciation for life, a sense of belonging to the collective, and finding our place on this planet also come from the realization and acceptance of this duality.

Through victimization, we can only wander around in pain, loneliness, and resentment.

There is a fine line between caring about those we love and caring about ourselves, but the latter should always prevail, because the person we spend the most time with is ourselves. That’s the relationship we should cherish the most.

That doesn’t mean mistreating or disregarding others. It means nurturing self-compassion above all else to protect ourselves during the most painful moments that we will inevitably encounter throughout our lifetime.

It may seem counterintuitive, but part of the process that brings this awareness, deep understanding, and integration of these learnings is also letting go of the ego and the need for validation from others. It means knowing that we are enough, that we can lose anything and still be content as long as we don’t lose ourselves.

Ultimately, maturity is not about detachment from others, but about alignment with ourselves. When we are grounded in who we are, we stop negotiating our worth. From that place, relationships become choices—not dependencies—and solitude becomes presence, not absence.

Beyond My CV

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